Windows in the Sky
by Kyla45
Summary: Four times she caught glimpses into Charles' mind, windows of shared thought and emotion. Four times she saw through the glass, saw that it had always been about Charles and Erik. Four times she remembered and one time she couldn't. Oneshot. Charles/Erik


Moira was constantly in awe of her mutant acquaintances, sometimes very slightly frightened of their power, sometimes even jealous. She didn't know the first thing about them, at least not as well as Charles did. She couldn't empathize with them at all - perhaps that they were different and were in danger of being ostracized and feared, much like being the only female CIA had been more than a challenge - but she knew her own experience couldn't hold a candle to it. She was the outsider.

But there had been moments, so strong and intense that they stole her breath, when she had been able to empathize _very_ clearly with one mutant in particular.

In some ways, it brought her closer to them, all of them, but at its core it was too deeply personal and her role as the intruder was only solidified.

In other ways, the glimpses gave rise to something ugly in her, something that made her guilty, while she could remember it.

* * *

><p><strong>XXX<strong>

* * *

><p>The first time it happened, she'd had to grab onto the steel railing of the ship to steady herself. The waves of emotion and disconnected thoughts had startled her, frightened her, because they weren't <em>hers<em>. The ferocity of the impact had completely caught her off guard.

Charles had already dived off the ship, irrationally, recklessly and she'd lost sight of him.

She felt panic, different than her own and a sense of urgency damn near suffocating her. It occurred to her it was probably the sensation of drowning.

Then she heard the thoughts, like an audio track skipping over the words.

_Please - I know what this - going to drown - calm your mind -_

_You are not alone. _

You are not alone.

The words resonated in her mind, a simple power and care infused in each syllable that made her knees feel wobbly.

That was right, though. Charles was kind, had been nothing but ever since she'd met him, but this was somehow different. She'd never observed this raw conviction before, this spark of intensity that was bright and consuming and gentle. The glimpses she'd caught couldn't compare to it now.

Then, as fast as it had happened, the connection ended and she was with her own self once more. When she squinted she could see two emerged figures bobbing on the surface of the choppy water.

And somehow she knew perfectly well that the mysterious stranger, nameless and faceless to her, had just somehow earned one hell of a friend in Charles.

_Moira, would you be kind enough to find a way to help us back on the boat? _

His voice echoed strongly in her mind, in a way that would have normally made her happy over such a connection; made her feel special.

But she realized that the strength of Charles' bubbling emotions, potent enough that she'd felt it - all for a stranger - outlined the workings of a _real _connection. Instant and strong, utterly palpable.

She felt distinctly envious as she watched Charles and the stranger being hauled up in a small, inflatable raft, huddled close for warmth, panting and shivering, looking at each other in silent communication.

_Speaking with their thoughts_, her mind supplied, sneering at the intimacy she couldn't help but associate to it all.

It hardly helped that after they'd been given blankets and seemingly left to their own devices by a disgruntled crew member, they had stayed melded together by instinct alone. And as she was forced away by duty, she thought horribly that it wasn't instinct at all, but the need to comfort.

Exhausted, shivering Charles comforting by the bump of his shoulder and his bent head close to the other's, fingers protruding from his blanket to touch, and the pale, angry, (somehow broken-looking) stranger accepting the warmth as he offered his own, a grudging gratitude and calmness causing his shoulders to sag and his body to curl more definitively around Charles.'

They've only just met, she thought scornfully, wounded at the way the stranger's fingers came out hesitantly to brush against Charles,' causing the telepath to smile with closed eyes in way she somehow knew he never would for her.

* * *

><p>The second time it happened, she hadn't been expecting it, having chocked up the first occurrence as a slip Charles couldn't make again.<p>

She'd asked Raven hesitantly about it, unsure whether the girl would divulge information about her brother to a near stranger, but the girl had answered with a little smile.

"When he's too worked up, sometimes he projects to people unconsciously. He hates it, of course, it's inhibited his ability to drop his guard, no matter the situation. But that was when he was little, his control now is practically effortless."

Moira wasn't surprised to hear that Charles had fine tuned control, but to hear such slips didn't happen often was what really caught her attention. A stranger, then, had worked him up enough that he'd projected to the entire crew?

Not too terribly surprised, she'd later learned from concerned crew members that they'd caught much of what she had. Frightened '_someone in my head'_s became the common phrase.

And just like that, not that it had ever taken much, Charles was again the sole subject on her mind, and she found it funny that the man in question would _know _of her borderline-obsessive interest if he cared to look.

Though she doubted he did. Care, that is. He was too polite, perhaps, to go snooping in her head.

When it happened again she'd been talking to a coworker and it was a fleeting, splendid burst of gentle happiness.

_You decided to stay_ - that's what the tingles of ease and almost child-like contentment seemed to spell out in colors and feelings, the letters and vowels coming easily to her.

The words imprinted themselves onto her mind, tender and happy and so damn warm.

The next day, she learnt of Charles and Erik's (that was the stranger's name) recruitment mission for mutants.

* * *

><p>It hadn't happened in so long that she had almost forgotten about it, so much had occurred since then. A band of kid-mutants recruited, the impromptu invasion of the Russian's Military Retreat, the destruction of the CIA research base and nearly all its personnel and the reveal of Charles' <em>castle<em>.

She felt like she was living in a fairytale of some sort, albeit a very weird, messed up one.

It was even more like a fairytale when she walked into a softly illuminated Victorian-styled room, gorgeous in its own right, to see Charles ridiculously sprawled out on a couch, chest rising and falling gently as he slept.

She found herself smiling, his features peaceful and boyish and, she'd admit it to herself, beautiful.

Moira hadn't quite been able to help herself from the very beginning. She was drawn to him in ways that were new and foreign to her. He was stunning, really, everything a man ought to be and everything she conceded she wanted. His eyes were open and trusting and kind and she'd been lost in their unending blue.

She took a stumbling, hesitant step into the room. She wanted to tip toe forward even when she knew she should back away - after all what was she doing? - but the temptation to go to him was too much to ignore. To simply brush his hair away from his forehead under the pretense of a motherly touch, _touch_ his skin, perhaps even trace his cheekbone-

_Erik…_

She stuttered to an abrupt stop when Charles' sleepy voice murmured in her head, followed by a sudden flash of heat. A very recognizable type of heat, the kind that rushed through her veins and caused the tips of her ears to turn red.

This was Charles projecting again, she _knew_ it was. Her breath hitched in her chest as her mind was bombarded with…with-

_Erik, I…please, closer…_

Visions passing by in blurs, glossy wet lips, needy stretching, gasped pleas, breathless laughs, sweat dampened skin, slick, touching, pulling, squeezing and the lust was unmistakable and heady, pulling her down in its great tidal wave.

Her heart started to speed up, in tune with the rocking, undulating movement of their hips.

Endless touching, lips, skin, they always had to be _touching_, fingers trailing up a thigh, cradling a jaw, tickling a quivering stomach. Closer, they must be closer, they pressed desperate and soft and hard, holding after a while, simply holding, fingers tensed and possessive. Erik's lips were bruised and Charles liked them that way and…

_Erik, Erik, Erik…_

The desire emanating from the telepath, mixed with something a great deal more tender, caused her to shiver slightly and her stomach to perform odd little flips.

_Oh Erik, yes… _

She choked on the air - this was the stuff of fantasies, namely her own, and she never imagined she'd get to hear Charles moan _like that _in the waking world, a soft sound at the back of his throat, the kind of sound that went perfectly with red stained cheeks and messy hair (presumably hair that Erik had rumpled). Oh she could imagine it, hardly had to, Charles' pupils blown so wide they almost overwhelmed the blue.

And Erik was kissing him wetly, moving - friction, yes - and Charles was breathless, tangling his hand through his hair and arching luxuriously…

_Wantmorecloser._

His head slumped to the side and he sighed in his sleep, mouth falling open softly. Nothing betrayed the content of his dreams but his damnable telepathy.

Moira was frozen, assaulted with the unsettling need to _hold _Erik, and she wished desperately Charles would realize what he was doing because of all people Erik was the last person she wanted to-

"You mustn't stare at the poor drooling idiot," Erik's smooth burr startled a quiet gasp from her lips and even when she tried to offer something to the silence, to explain why she'd been caught gawking, near drooling herself, she could only watch after him like some poor catatonic drunk.

And she tried not to notice the slight flare of a warning in his eyes as he passed her, as if to say 'keep away from him.'

He strode lazily to the couch Charles was sleeping on, nudging his legs roughly out of the way so that the telepath jolted awake.

"Wha?" he slurred, blinking sleepy eyes at Erik before smiling brightly, his blue gaze softening. "Oh, Erik, delightful of you to wake me so kindly."

He snorted. "Taking naps like the elderly now, Charles?" he reprimanded with a quiet tilt of his lips.

Moira didn't hear what Charles retorted with, because she had fled the room as stealthily as she could in her fluster.

Not that they'd even noticed, sitting more closely than was strictly necessary, their smiles forever turned to each other, locked in hushed conversation.

She felt more like an intruder than ever before, with the distant wisps of emotions that were not her own still running rampant through her body, causing a very marked physical reaction.

_Ah _- and those _fantasies_, they stuck to the top of her brain stubbornly. She could not ignore them or pretend she hadn't been granted the firmest clue regarding whose attentions Charles would most prefer.

It wasn't her and her damn heartbeat wouldn't calm and her cheeks were still flushed with heat. Throughout her entire body, in fact, the warmth was liquid and burning in its intensity.

She could feel the want, feel how much Charles wanted (needed) Erik, and it made her shiver even through the heat of her blush.

And for all that, she could still feel her own sadness like an anchor.

* * *

><p>"I wish they'd get on with it already," Raven huffed one day, sounding alarmingly feral.<p>

They were in the kitchen, groggily drinking coffee as the sun took its time rising. Erik and Charles were in the adjacent room, slumped close together, seemingly enjoying a few moments of peaceful respite before the rest of the kids would wake.

"With what?" Moira asked, following Raven's gaze.

They really were much too close, surely…

The young shape shifter shook her head. "You know, for my brother being a telepath, you'd think he'd get a clue more easily. But he's got some noble notion about not intruding into the minds of his friends. Ridiculous!" she was almost ranting now and Moira was as lost as ever.

"I think it's nice he respects boundaries-" she started to say, always ready to defend Charles, only to be cut off.

"Oh sure, he's amazing and all that, but the tension is killing me and it doesn't even involve _me!_"

She noticed Charles grinning, eyes closed as he lay splayed, and she wasn't surprised when Erik's lips answered in a smirk. There they went again, speaking without ever saying a word.

"Really, what are you talking about?"

It was here that Raven gave her a searching look and then shook her head again. "Nothing."

But Moira knew it wasn't nothing, how could she not know when the un-nothingness was broadcast to her in no uncertain terms?

Distracted, she took notice that Erik and Charles were no longer in the next room, and then she felt as if someone had punched her in the stomach. Only in a good way.

Before she had time to ponder how a punch in the gut could be _good_, it happened.

Blinding happiness, desperation, an odd tinge of sadness and full bodied devotion and frenzy and warmth and closed eyes and smiling -

She gasped.

A kiss.

They were kissing.

Moira turned to Raven when she laughed and tapped her forehead. "You heard that too?" the girl seemed completely unfazed and she was envious of her cavalier attitude.

"Yeah," she breathed out stupidly, her insides too tingly with the foreign emotions of the telepath, buzzing around her, making her blush the tiniest bit.

"I told you, whenever he gets too worked up. Best we not mention this to him," she grinned from ear to ear.

When Moira didn't say anything, Raven's grin softened. "It's a strange feeling, isn't it? It goes beyond understanding or sympathizing or imaging. Just be glad he's happy and I hope you never have to be around when he's got a hangover," her lips were quirked crookedly and there was nothing but fondness in her expression.

Moira touched her lips thoughtlessly through her frown.

They were kissing.

* * *

><p>"He's gone into the void, I can't communicate with him there!"<p>

She didn't need Charles to be projecting to read him - his posture, his voice, his face. He was panicked and worried, it bled off him in waves that took no power to discern.

Her words were lost to him as he worked desperately to help Erik silently, fingers pressed at his temples tightly.

Then a gasp and cry, and as she asked, he tensed.

"-I can only control this man for so long," he grit, the polite way of telling her to _shut it_, as he jutted out his hand against the metal, trying to brace himself against a strain that wasn't even physical.

She felt helpless to him, helpless to even be a reassuring presence.

It was something Erik had never seemed to have a problem with, one look, word, touch, and Charles was _better_.

Before she had too much time to wallow in her uselessness, her heart lurched into action once more, kicking into acute overdrive as all her sense turned to Charles.

"No, don't do this Erik!"

She'd never heard him sound so unlike himself, so ill composed, never seen him express anger physically (punching unyielding metal - she couldn't help think the gesture strangely symbolic). This was different than normal panic, it was so much more raw and scared and she was witnessing it, overwhelmed with the very clear sense of things coming apart. The frenzied desperation in his voice was like a ticking time bomb to her.

Her heart squeezed in her chest painfully because she didn't know what was wrong or how to make it better.

"No! Please, Erik! No!"

Maybe she couldn't know what was going on, but she felt a rush of anger towards the metal bender for whatever he was doing. That horrible, bitter man had no right to make Charles sound like _this-_

"_Please_, Erik!"

His harsh breathing was worrying her and she wanted to call out, but in the next instant, her voice would've never been heard.

He was screaming.

Screaming _loud_, unrestrainedly, pain in every decibel, his body trembling, his fingers glued ominously to his forehead. She frantically looked him over, but didn't know how to make it stop, and oh God, would it ever?

She thought it would go on forever but his voice finally died away. With a choke, he fell to his knees.

"Charles!" if she screamed, it was only because the pounding in her ears would not permit her to whisper. "Charles, oh my God, are you alright?" She skidded down on her knees next to him, trying to look at his face.

He was holding his head in both hands, forehead pressed to the ground as he remained slumped and unmoving, save for his heaving back as he struggled to breathe.

She put a tentative hand on his shoulder and got no reaction. Something hard lodged into her throat. "Charles!"

"I'm fine," was the hoarse response she finally got. After a moment, a much more refined, "I'm fine, really."

Still though, his death grip never left his skull and he didn't straighten from his collapsed position. His voice sounded all wrong.

"Charles, please look at me," she said, a touch desperate.

"I know I'm being terribly rude, love," he said, his most valiant attempt at reassuring _her_. "I just need a moment, pesky telepath stuff, you see."

She hardened herself against the tears threatening to spill over and waited until he lifted his face, pale and worn. She waited until he picked himself up from the wrecked airship and then she watched his legs wobble, knowing he was a little too proud to have her help him.

"What did he do to you?" she demanded, and she vaguely thought that if Charles' powers were at all focused, he'd be able to feel her anger effortlessly, emanating from her as it was like a gushing spout.

"Nothing at all," he said, taking another staggering step. "Come on then."

She followed, because really, she would always follow him.

True to her gut feeling, something she'd always prided herself on, things were coming undone, less the peaceful predictable unraveling and more the brutal tearing at the seams.

Over the dread and panic of everything happening around her, over her despair when no one replied to her messages that the _beach was secure, please,_ she wondered that she hadn't felt Charles projecting yet, that familiar sensation she never quite got used to. He was losing the persuasion battle with Erik, he was under stress, hundreds of missiles were being launched their way-

But it didn't happen until she started firing her gun, her fury near impossible to contain. That monster, that wretched man was hitting Charles (unfair because he was stronger and _knew _it), was trying to kill thousands of men, was turning on his best - only - friend. She could not say which of these offences was worse.

She didn't hesitate pulling the trigger, her anger making her forget the bullets were _metal_ because she wanted nothing more than to cause harm to the dangerous man who was threatening her Charles. She did not even delude herself into thinking her purpose was only simple distraction.

She wanted to maim.

And the very last time it happened, she'd held back a scream. She felt like she might throw up and every inch of her body was suddenly shot through with agony.

She couldn't even feel her own emotions, her own shock that Charles had fallen to the ground, her own hatred for his scream (why was he screaming so much today?) the sound searing itself into her memory.

She only knew how badly this hurt and somehow, somehow she knew under the cracked control, Charles was still holding back some of the sensation. Her eyes prickled.

Beyond the physicality of the pain, almost dull in comparison, there was one thought on repeat and it ripped and tore almost as badly as the burning bullet, or the flashes she caught of a coin and the purest sensation of slow torture and then simply _nothing. _She gasped for breath as her stomach twisted, unsure how Charles was even processing this much _pain_.

_Don't go, you don't have to go, don't go._

Over and over again, never making it to the person she knew it was meant for. Erik had that helmet on, the one Charles had fought so hard to dislodge, as he held the broken telepath in his arms. The sand was so hot but she couldn't feel-

She didn't have long for thinking, because Erik suddenly turned to her, blaming _her_ and she had no time to register the metal around her neck, the cold anger in his eyes.

Then she couldn't breathe, the metal twisting and snaring around her larynx in practiced precision and oh God she was going to die-

But Charles made it stop, saved her. She couldn't even be glad about it, couldn't be sad about the way he didn't panic for _her_, she only felt empty.

She fell to her knees, gasping, watching through blurred vision as they talked, as Erik practically cradled Charles' face.

"…I want you by my side…"

The anger bubbled up in her, overflowing and scalding but she couldn't move or say anything, could only watch them, positioned for all the world like pseudo lovers. But it hadn't been fake, had it? The quiet, insistent heartache was like a suffocating pulse in the air, gaining strength with each thudding beat.

Then Erik was motioning for her to take his place - he was leaving.

A shock of strangled grief caused her to stumble on her way to Charles and she knew this was Charles, all him; she knew she'd never feel anything quite like this. The turbulent cacophony of emotions was leaking out in strained spurts and she hated to think how weak, how damaged Charles was at the moment.

She stuttered out "I'm sorry, so sorry" as she supported him, barely able to stand the tears in his eyes, the wincing of his expression or the labored breaths wracked with pain.

This was worse than watching him scream his lungs out, it was so much worse.

Caught off guard, she gasped at the sudden withdraw of _painheartachepleasedon't_, and she recognized that the moment of connection was over, as if Charles had realized his mistake. There was nothing and she worried at the sudden disappearance.

She wished though that she could again feel his pain, her own guilt and disbelief choking her.

_I'm the one who should be apologizing_, he told her mentally, his eyes closed as Erik prepared to leave, giving one final option for whomever wished to join him. _I'm terribly sorry about that just now, my mind is not as steady as I'd like. _

He sounded ridiculously polite but there was a tremor even in his mental voice that made her heart clench.

"No," she rasped out hoarsely. "It's alright, Charles…" she squeezed her eyes shut as the tears came unbidden. This time she didn't bother to stop them.

He either did not have the strength to reassure her, or could not, because then he is apologizing to Raven as she kisses his forehead and then Erik is gone and everyone was rushing towards him.

"I can't feel my legs," over and over again and distantly, the ghosts of his voice whispers, haunting her, but not to her, never to her: _I love you, I can't reach you, I can't say goodbye, I can't breathe properly…Oh Erik…I can't…_

_I can't-_

* * *

><p>When she is asked what she remembers, her voice is dreamy. "…trees, sunlight, a kiss."<p>

The men scorn and condescend but she ignores them, lost in her precious fragments.

Though a strange sensation curdled in her stomach as she realizes she can't even remember. Had she been kissed, or simply imagined it? It seemed so strangely muted, so far away.

Determined now, she tries hard to pull the fragments into clarity.

There are flashes of pain, sheer _agony_, happiness, aching tenderness…love.

But she is unable to associate memories to these emotions and it is frustrating enough to bring the prickle of tears to her eyes. It feels like floundering for lost car keys you can never remember misplacing, only she knows this particular loss will never be found.

When she reaches past the frustration she knows, as sure as she knows that she is missing something, that these emotions are not _her own_. Of course that explains it. She is sure it's part of the reason for her stinging eyes.

Because it stands to reason that she'd not been loved, either.

This makes her sad, a bit of a silly reaction if she's being honest with herself.

But even so, the real hurt, the crippling ache in her chest comes from the distant, unnamable knowledge that someone, someone _important _is suffering a thousands times worse than she is.

She is jolted out of her thoughts and nearly out of her own chair by the resounding crash below them.

"What the hell was that?"

Everyone lurches into action, a mix of panic and purpose, but she sits still, oddly passive.

The whole place is shaking, rumbling under pure destructive force and she feels the tremors beneath her feet until it goes eerily silent.

Moments later, without knowing why, when she hears the screech of churning metal, she feels her insides grow cold with hatred.

* * *

><p><strong>XXX<strong>

* * *

><p>Despite seeing this movie three times, I never quite caught on whether Charles completely erased her memory of him from the start or not. For the sake of this plot bunny, I'm saying he did.<p>

MANDATORY, this was, after that lovely lovely film. Had to indulge the angst-monster, oh I had to.

Review?


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